Same Same but Different

Chapter Nine

A white car pulled up to the entrance of Raffles. The bartender was overly polite and quick to refer a car service when he overheard Chris asking me if I was going to take a moto or tuk-tuk home.

"A tuk-tuk would be better. You can't topple off of it." He joked. The drinks from the embassy coupled up with the Femme Fatales made me sway a bit when I stood. I knew the drinks were hitting me, but I didn't realize how obvious it was.

Chris' strong elbow locked my arm against his side. I had tried to protest, but he wouldn't have it. And now that the car was here, I regretted not taking his arm earlier. With chivalrous flair, he opened the backdoor to the car and allowed me to slide in.

"See you tomorrow then." He smiled that megawatt grin and closed the door.

I don't recall any of the drive back to the apartment. I was lost in my own thoughts, dancing about between memories of the bizarre last twenty-four hours and imaginative ideas of what the next would bring. When we pulled into the dark complex, I stuffed my hand into my pocket to pull out money to pay for the ride.

"It's already been taken care of," the driver waved me off as we made eye contact in the rear view mirror.

I nodded, mildly embarrassed that Chris had paid for the car but equally appreciative. It made me feel he was acknowledging the massive class difference between the two of us.

I also do not remember getting into my apartment. Fuzzy in a happy alcohol fog, I tumbled into bed and sleep found me easily.

***

Jetlag pulled at my eyelids before the sun completely was up. When I opened one eye and realized the room was still clothed in black, I forced my eyes closed. Jetlag didn't let go through. It kept poking at me incessantly, telling me I needed to be awake.

"Ugh," I kicked the covers off and grabbed my phone. It was early. "Fuck you, jetlag." I growled as I pulled the sheet over my face. It was useless though. My brain was off to the races.

Today I would meet up along the river, at the same cafe I last sat with Faith chatting about what was next in life, with Chris Evans.

"What. The. What." I spoke aloud into the deep darkness of morning.

And where would we go after that? At least half of the day would be gone. That was if the morning moved quickly, getting him a new passport and all. What do you do for half of a day in Phnom Penh?

I had an entire list of places I wanted to take people to in this country. Faith and I used to dream about bringing our parents to places around the happy place that is Cambodia. My mother is terrified of flying, so getting her across the entire Pacific Ocean and down most of the continent of Asia was not going to happen. But we had fun thinking about it.

To me, the most important thing for any tourist to do in this country is see the Killing Fields and the Genocide Museum. Understanding what Cambodians have been through in the past century is important to appreciate where they are now.

The Genocide Museum is in an old school. Rooms became holding cells for those that Pol Pot deemed dangerous. And according to him the dangerous were the educated who would easily turn against him. Teachers, professors, doctors. It's hard to imagine people of those caring careers being systematically killed off, but it happened. The black and white photos, lined up like some sort of heartbreaking yearbook, are carefully displayed. The room full of photos is where I, oddly enough, spent most of my time. The sadness and strength in the eyes of the prisoners who were just waiting to die drew me in. I felt I needed to look each and every person directly in their eyes, try to know them, and apologize that my country, the self-designated savior of the planet, did nothing for them.